Guernica
by AWOLB489
Summary: I have always laughed at being admitted into the hospital. But without my lifeline, I will not come out perfectly fine again.


I have always laughed at being admitted into the hospital.

Whether it be a little too heavy on the gin, pneumonia, or anything in between, I, Arthur Kirkland, am believed to be a sickly man. I have been to the hospital many times, and even been told I will die in a number of days, and they are always shocked beyond reason when I walk out perfectly fine within the next week.

Yesterday, I did not laugh at being admitted into the hospital. This time, I don't think I will come out perfectly fine.

I watch the heart rate monitor with tired eyes, watching it go up and down again and again. I look at the IV in my arm, at the hospital gown scarcely covering me, at the dull hospital room around me.

I've no clue what has happened to me, but I have my rather odd theories.

Exactly two days ago, the love of my life ran off with some all too happy Spanish prick. I've had him for most of my life; I literally cannot live without the man. I love him more than the world, even though he is a frog.

He cheated on me for four months. That was when my muscles had started aching, when I'd started to have minor physical pain. I told myself it was nothing, and remained happy with my French lover.

Two months ago, they first had sex, and we gradually did it less. _Gradually._ Francis, my all-too-faithful lover, pretended to care that my lungs started feeling swollen, and that my muscles hurt worse. I hope he's happy with that Spaniard, Antonio.

Two weeks ago, Francis didn't come home. He wasn't there to lie in bed with me, to make love to me, to let me fall asleep in his arms. Of course, he came home the next morning, but he wasn't there that night. When asked where he was, he said he got a little drunk and passed out at the bar with his asshole friends and that he was still feeling the effects of the alcohol. _Ah, yes, I bet you had a lovely night with your Spaniard. I bet you like fucking him more than you like fucking me. _I ended up having to go to the doctor with a fever, a cough, and myalgia.

One week ago, Francis planned how to tell me the big news. He planned how to tell me I wasn't good enough for him. We were married, Francis; we were in love, and we were that way until four months ago. I went to the emergency room because I blacked out from the muscle pain. Francis did care; he ran into the ER as quick as he could and started crying over my hospital bed, kissing me everywhere and begging me to wake up. I was discharged only a few hours later, in perfect health, because Francis had cured me. We fell asleep in each other's arms at home that night, and he didn't leave my side for three days. I was the happiest I had been in months, with Francis there.

Four days ago, he left my side again. He told Antonio that they would run away in two days; they would go live in Paris, or Barcelona, or somewhere else besides drowsy, rainy London. My temperature spiked, and suddenly, I had heart pains that I couldn't ignore. Once again, I was admitted into the ER. When Francis came again, sobbing over my gurney, I was healed. He said words that I now know the true meaning to: _Arthur, I will always love you. No matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. _

Two days ago, he told me everything about his affair with Antonio.

Two days ago, I stopped being alive. I had a heart beat, I had a pulse, and all of my organs were functioning. But without Francis, my lifeline, I was a dead man walking.

I hope he makes you as happy as you make me. I hope he is your lifeline. I hope you get married, Francis. I hope you adopt beautiful children, and I hope they are as wonderful as you.

And now, I sit in my hospital room, waiting for death to take me. I am not waiting for death; I am inviting it. I need it. I cannot survive without my one true love. No, Francis is more than my one true love: he is my anchor to this world. I am gone.

As I watch my heart beat, a slow, broken rhythm, I start to tear up. Not tears of sadness, but tears of joy, spring from my eyes. I push the button for the nurse.

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland? Are you alright?" The nurse asked upon entering. I smile weakly, tears trickling down my pale cheeks.

"I'm going to die soon, Lizzy. I'm finally going to die," I choke out.

Lizzy, my nurse, gasps. "Doctor! Come in here, quick!" she yells down the hall.

A tall, muscular doctor runs into the room. I smile at him, tears coming down my face steadily. "Hello, doctor, I think I'm going to die. Before I die, I need you to do one thing for me."

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland, anything! But we must start working!" He starts barking out orders for his team of nurses to get medicine for me, but I know in my heart that I am dead.

"Please, doctor, get me a phone. I must call someone."

The doctor shakes as he places the phone in my hand. I dial in the number quickly. "Hello?" says the exact voice I am looking for.

"F-francis… I'm dying, love. You killed me. You left me, Francis. I'm dead."

I hear Francis start sobbing and retching in the background. "Arthur! Y-you… No! I… I never knew you would… augh!" I hear Francis vomit. I frown, and the tears become more frequent.

"I love you, Francis. More than anything."

"Arthur! No! Don't die! God, please don't die!" Francis screams, sobbing more. "I'll come back! I'll leave Antonio! I still love you, Arthur! Please, Arthur, please!"

"I'm sorry, Francis. I-I have to die."

"No! P-please, no!" he screams. I start sobbing as well, hanging up the phone and allowing the doctors to work on me. Drugs flow from the IV into my blood, but they will not help. Not even Francis will help at this point. I am a dead man.

I watch my heart beat on the screen, up and down, up and down. I start to laugh, the tears coming down my face, the pain from the past four months now gone. I close my eyes. The line goes flat.

I, Arthur Kirkland, am pronounced dead two days after my lover abandons me. The cause of death is a heart attack.

The real cause of death is heart break.

_**THREE MONTHS LATER **_

I sit on a cloud, laughing softly as a talk to Francis. We are in heaven now, and we are angels.

Francis gave his life to be with me.

I have forgiven him for leaving me. We are together now, and that is all that matters.

We walk in the beautiful parks every day, holding hands and smiling brightly. Francis tells me how much he loves me every day, every hour. We never leave each other's side, and we never fight. Francis is good to me now. He knows he killed me. But that doesn't matter now.

Anything Francis does to me is forgiven.

…

_Fin._

_I don't even know. I wrote this at about 11:30 last night while listening to Guernica by Brand New. Hence the title. _

…_Sad AU is sad. _


End file.
